Gold Plastic Syndrome
by ProwlingBelle
Summary: When people look at Sunstreaker, they think about how many lives he costs. About how he almost ended the war not in their favor, becoming the betrayer. When people look at Prowl, they tell themselves to stay away. Nobody wants to get close to the cold and calculating second in command. He might stab you in the back just to prove his point. Open wounds make up a person.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! This is for NaNoWriMo, so if I have a lot of spelling/grammar mistakes... I'm sorry! I'll fix them when the month ends. My main focus is to complete this within the due dates. I hope you like this! (Will update daily for NaNoWriMo)

* * *

A golden bot eyed a small glass of engex that was placed in front of him. Before picking it up and taking a swig, he ran his index finger along the side of the shiny crystal clear metal. He dimmed his optics while studying the glowing bright yellow liquid to reduce glare radiating from the glass. Soft mumbles escaped his lip plates as he brought his hand down back to his side.

"Are you going to drink that, Sunstreaker?" Trailbreaker called out sitting in the booth behind him clearly intoxicated. The black mech inched forward almost laying on his table as a small hiccup erupted from his mouth.

If the humane ability to roll your eyes were possible with Cybertronian optics, the golden bot would have most definitely done that. "Yes." He mumbled out before gripping his small glass of engex protectively. "I am." This time, he spoke with more confidence.

Trailbreaker's frame wobbled as he stood from the small booth. He quickly slammed a hand on the table to support his drunken frame. He leaned back and raised his free hand to point at the betrayer. "Then drink it you… you… sunflower!" he tossed his helm back as his red optics brightened in joy. The black mech chuckled to himself and gripped on to the table tighter not wanting to fall.

Sunstreaker growled and picked up the glass using his brute force to shatter it in his hand. He glared at the mech with the red optics and crushed the remaining chunks of shattered pieces with his right foot attracting unwanted attention from the mechs sitting down at Swerve's bar. His bright cyan blue optics darted around the room as he observed the faces watching him. A small wave of panic washed upon him and he struggled to shake it off. "Frag you." He said coldly while moving his optics to look into the intoxicated red ones.

He turned around and puffed up his chest wanting to look bigger than he was. He then, turned around so his back was facing Trailbreaker's front and slowly stepped out of the room ignoring the optics of the mechs he passed.

He hated it. He hated it when mechs looked at him. It was something he used to love, but ever since… Ever since, THAT happened, he hated it. He abominated the fact that whenever he walked into a room, someone was there to watch his every move just in case he decided to turn on someone.

He marched to his private habitation suite that he most gracefully requested to have the day that the Lost Light took off. Well, it wasn't as private as the name suggested. His pet insecticon, Bob, was lying on his berth peacefully recharging with his collar fit snuggly around his neck with the chains hanging down the side of the metal bed. Sunstreaker carefully and quietly walked up to his loving pet, and slowly raised a hand to run it down the small helm dodging the spikes as he went further down. He couldn't help but twist his lips up in a small but barely-there smile.

He ran his hand down the cold silver chain secured tightly on the collar that connected to a small latch on the side of the pets recharging berth that he most carefully constructed himself. Almost himself. Brainstorm, the ships weapons engineer, had to provide spare metals and materials he had laying around. Sunstreaker had to get down and dirty risking his almost perfect paint job to mold metals to his liking. It wasn't the most complicated of tasks, but it was something that could be done to distract him.

He smiled and pet his insecticon once more while he sat down and admired his cute little recharging frame. He propped up his hands under his chin and frowned once he saw the scratches the glass of engex had done to him. The yellow mech rubbed his hands together and scowled barely noticing the sticky feeling of the high grade energon between his fingers.

He mumbled profanities to himself as he got up to go search his habitation suite for a spare rag. Quickly, he found one tucked under his own recharging berth and he worked quickly to rub out the sticky feeling, and made a mental note to buff and wax his golden finish before his need to recharge soon.

He dragged his feet to a small chair in front of Bob's berth and carefully sat down not wanting anymore scratches. Stretching his sore back struts, he sighed trying to push the image of everyone's optics on him to the back of his buzzing processor. He took out a sketch pad his brother found for him a while back on Cybertron and pressed it against his lap.

"Should I?" He softly whispered to himself. He nodded and flipped through pages of half-finished sketches to a blank page in the middle, and took out a pen while slowly propping up the book on his knee to start sketching. Taking one last look at the insecticon's sleeping form, he committed it to his memory banks and started to drag the pen across the page forming intricate organic shapes. Some spikes here, some lines there, and curves to connect everything he was seeing from his memory banks by transferring it onto the blank page.

Happy with the results, and lifted the pad up and held it in front of eyes sight next to the pet. He smiled and held the pad steady to admire his work.

His face twisted into a lurid expression, and he dropped the sketch pad on the floor. As the sketch pad fell, its blank pages all became apparent. Nothing was ever drawn in it. The golden mech breathed heavily and brought his hands up to his face. It happened again. He was seeing things again. Through the cracks in his fingers, he peeked at the page he drew Bob on.

It was blank. There was no pen around.

Maybe he wasn't meant to draw again. Not after THAT.

* * *

Prowl laid back on his recharging berth ignoring the pain signal his door wings were sending to his processor. He tried to wiggle them into a more comfortable position, but his body weight didn't allow such a thing to happen. Why did he even try? He knows how much his door wings weigh. He knows much everything above his torso weighs. If he were to calculate how much his upper body needed to weigh in order to move his door wings freely when laying down, the weight of his upper body would come nowhere near the proportion he had now. But before he forgets, he needs to calculate the amount of force his door wings can exert. Simple math. Simple calculations. Something simple he could have done in one one-hundredth of a second rather than wasting five seconds trying to move his wings.

He sighed wishing for a second he could turn on his side without having to completely sit up and move. Blast his Primus darned oversized door wings. He relaxed his tense frame for the first time that day and let out a shaky breath from his intakes. Prowl spent his day in his office crunching stat after stat, and formulating workable strategies for achievable victories against possible organized NAIL revolts. He needed to loosen up, but he only permitted himself a designated time to relax and recharge.

"You think Boss would let us?" Scavenger's voice would be heard outside of Prowl's private habitation suite. "I mean…" The Constructicons chuckled outside his hab suite, and the black and white mech groaned not wanting to deal with his gestalt right now.

"Open the door." Long Haul suggested.

"What if he's recharging?" Hook frowned at his comment. "Wouldn't want to wake the boss up!"

"Who cares?!" Bonecrusher yelled out before breaking the door open pushing past the locking systems with ease.

Prowl offlined his optics pretending to be in recharge. Every one of his prognostic evaluation program systems calculated with a twelve percent certainty they would leave. Although it was only twelve percent, it was a lot higher than every other thousand things he could have done.

Mixmaster poked him and frowned receiving no reaction from his leader. "The Boss is recharging. Should we leave and ask tomorrow?"

Scavenger frowned and brought a hand up and slapped it on top of Mixmaster's helm. "Leave?" He said scoffing as Mixmaster rubbed his now sore helm. "I say we wake him up." His and all the other Constructicon's lip plates rose up into deadly smirks.

Prowl ran his prognostic evaluation program systems again and calculated a two point three four two one eight six chance of them leaving. He resisted to urge to get up and order the Constructicons to leave. But he knew if he did that, they wouldn't leave.

Bonecrusher took one of his hands and gently ran it down Prowl's side. "So pretty." The Constructicon whispered to himself and to the rest of the gestalt. Scavenger snickered and ran a hand down along Prowl's right door wing and stopped at the center and rubbed his thumb over the paint job. Prowl couldn't resist the urge to online his optics and gasp at the sensations his door wings were overloading his processor with.

Scavenger grinned. "Prowl!"

Prowl mumbled and pushed the near Constructicons away. "Get out of my habitation suite." He said calmly, yet with authority.

The green bots frowned and protested all together in a chorus. "You're stressed out Prowl! Let us help you!" Hook frowned while reaching out to touch the second in command's shoulder.

"Don't touch me Scrapper!" Prowl exclaimed while quickly and expertly dodging his hand.

The Constructicons fell silent as he yelled out the same of their dead companion. They dimmed their optics wanting to forget about their once close friend. Hook was the first to break the awkward silence. "I'm not Scrapper."

Prowl nodded completely oblivious to their short second of pain. "I know. I said Hook." Maybe he didn't want to acknowledge the fact he was wrong, but perhaps maybe he wasn't wrong. He could search his memory banks to find out which name he said, but it didn't matter to him.

"Okay." Hook responded before taking long strides out the room. The rest of the green mechs followed silently leaving Prowl alone again.

The door-winged mech sighed and laid back down on his berth into a more comfortable position than before. He pushed his helm back and allowed himself some time to think himself into recharge. For a while, he thought he upset the Constructicons, but he simply didn't have the time to care.

Hopefully, he subconsciously called him Scrapper because his prognostic evaluation program systems acted without a command to simulate and act on the strongest course of action to take to get the Constructicons to leave.

Prowl always thought he didn't need friends. The Constructicons were just a valuable resource that he could use to up the odds in battle. Who cares if he hurts them? It won't affect future battle outcomes in the near future.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunstreaker liked to lie down on his recharge berth with the lights turned off. It calmed him, and made him feel safe from everyone —from himself. He needed some reassurance that he wouldn't hurt anyone, and what better way than to have the lights off in his private (unless you count his pet insecticon, Bob) habitation suite that made him feel alone. Feeling alone is exactly what he wanted because in those moments, he was safe.

Bob purred climbing onto his golden owners berth and nudged his small helm into Sunstreaker's side. Sunstreaker looked down and gently put his left hand on the helm avoiding the spikes. He carefully pushed his pet insecticon's small helm and frame not wanting any more scratches. "Careful, Bob." The words came out as a low, soft, mumble as he dimmed his optics ready to recharge next to his loving companion.

He let out a small sigh and turned onto his left side to pet Bob. The insecticon jumped and twitched while keeping his small optics on full brightness dancing in happiness while bathing in the attention of Sunstreaker. Bob started to let out whines wanting to snuggle closer and be able to love his owner.

The golden yellow mech couldn't help but letting out a soft chuckle at the happy ex-swarm member dancing and whining in front of him. "Careful there Bob. It's time to recharge." He slowly twitched the corners of his lips up into a small genuine smile reserved only for the insecticon. He swung over his other arm over and used his right hand to tickle the sensitive plating on his belly. The ex-swarm member's small limbs moved and trashed around. Bright optics began to dim until they were almost off, and he wiggled his body trying to get away from Sunstreaker's hands of doom. Bob's cooling fans switched on and the insecticon opened his intakes to cool down. Then, Sunstreaker took his hands off to stop torturing the poor pet.

If the ex-war warrior accomplished one thing that day, it would be getting Bob tired enough to offline his systems and recharge for the night. His pet yawned and curled up on himself falling into a light recharge. Sunstreaker gave him one last pat on the helm before turning back and sighing as he off lined his optics.

Most Cybertronians argue and debate about whether or not their kind of species dream. Some mechs surmise that all Cybertronians, or at least most of them, have some type or form of dream every time they recharge. And others, such as Sunstreaker, believe that their memory banks activate and play flashbacks while they recharge. Regardless, most mechs wake up not being able to remember a single thing. Except Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker could remember the day he was created. He dreamt about it often. He was constructed cold along with a bot designated as Sideswipe. They quickly hit it off with Sideswipe always jokingly calling them, 'spark buddies.' The yellow mech always lowered his helm and scowled whenever the red mech said this, but it only reinforced the way Sideswipe acted.

Sideswipe laid down on with berth with his face down scrolling down a data pad intensely focused on the contents. He mumbled agreeing with some words, but also groaned when reading something he didn't like.

"What are you reading Sideswipe? I didn't know you could read!" Sunstreaker said while looking up from his seat in front of Sideswipe's line of sight. He set down his buffer and inspected every inch of his fore arm wanting to make sure everything looked perfect.

Sideswipe finished the next couple sentences before looking up and frowning at his brother-in-arm's comment. "It's called a data pad Streaker. And yes! I could read! I was created to do so!" The red one retorted and slumped his shoulders a bit insulted.

Sunstreaker scoffed while reaching for a rag and some high quality wax he most graciously worked for. "I know it's a data pad you glitch! What's in it? What's it about Sideswipe?" His words grew quieter and turned into mumbles the further he got with his words.

"It's called, _Towards Peace_. Written by some mech called Megaton." He spoke confidently while checking the first page of the data pad to make sure he didn't make a mistake about the so called data pad. He frowned when he read the name of the author. "Megatron. Sorry. Ha-ha, what a weird name."

Sunstreaker could only nod in agreement. "Like neutron, or electron."

Sideswipe chuckled and grinned. "Or like…" He paused to think of something clever only to find out his creativity software didn't want to work with him that day. "Never mind!" He said quickly before returning to his readings.

The yellow mech sighed in disappointment as he went back to polish his chrome. "Anyways, what is this Megaton writing about?"

"Megatron." Sideswipe corrected loving the feeling of being right.

He was always compared to the yellow bot and sometimes it made him want to shove a big pole into everyone's helm and hang them around his habitation suite on the outside so nobody would ever compare them again. Sunstreaker was his P-3 Training Officer and strike partner whom always took every chance to look down on him as a subpar rookie. When they were along, things were peaceful between them with no tension. Well, most of the time. Sometimes it's just hard to keep work like and personal life separate.

"Whatever." Sunstreaker said quickly not giving the bright fiery red bot a chance to speak.

"Well, anyways, it's about…" He dimmed his optics and stared at the page in frustration trying to figure out how to put it in words. "Can I just read you an excerpt?" He asked. His Training Officer sighed loudly and frowned at him making Sideswipe feel as if he were judging him and calling him even more useless then what he felt. Sideswipe brushed away the feelings and cleared his throat. "I'm going to read you this page:

" _In a society built around a Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy that is obsessively revised and reinterpreted, the one thing that never changes—the one thing that must never change—is the system itself. Every revision, every reinterpretation takes place within a rigid framework of social stratification. Nothing must threaten the functionists' core philosophy: utility as an organizing principle._

 _If you could step outside the system you would recognize it for what it is: a prison. Worse than that, it is a prison full of willing prisoners. And not only are you a prisoner within the system, you are a prisoner within your own body. Whether or not you were born or made, forged or constructed cold, you are trapped inside your alt mode. The functionists built the lock and the senate holds the key; but most of us are unaware that we're locked in._

 _Make no mistake: your life is mapped out in front of you, as clear as the grooves in your transformation cog. You can no more choose to change jobs than Cybertron can choose to stop orbiting the sun. You can no more acquire a skill unrelated to your vocation than the sky can acquire a conscience._

 _In denying you the ability to reject your alt-mode—in preventing you from pursuing a path of your own choosing—both the senate and the council say they are acting in your best interests. They have a responsibility, they say, to ensure that you make best use of your God-given form. If you turn into a drill, it is because Primus knows that Cybertron needs drills. To deviate from your function is to risk invoking the wrath of God and bringing the world to its knees._

 _In truth, it is about control. A multi-skilled population is an empowered population. And if you reject your alt mode, what next? Would you reject your class? Would you reject your government?_

 _The functionists don't rely solely on theology when rebutting arguments for change. Working outside of your alt mode would be confusing, they say. Imagine being treated by a medic with tank treads; you would question their competence. And they extend the same question to the miners. "Would you feel comfortable working alongside a microscope?" And to the military: "Would you put your life in the hands of a soldier who turns into a data slug?"_

 _And it is true. People would be unnerved—at first. But the functionists—enabled by the senate—have created conditions that have given rise to this culture of suspicion; and they have done so deliberately, because it reinforces the status quo. Moreover, it fosters division, and division is another means by which they can control the population. The more walls you can put up between people, the easier it is to contain them, and the stronger the structural integrity of the system._

 _And that is why when you see a stranger you don't think, "What are you like?" You think, "What are they for?" You don't think, "What are their hopes, dreams, aspirations?" You think, "What do they do?" And then you think, "Where are they positioned in relation to me? Do they sit above, alongside, or below? Are they better than me, or I them?"_

 _Even if you believe in the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy, ask yourself this: Who decides on that order? And then: Why should there be an order? And that is the question that the senate and the functionists fear the most, because they know that their world would collapse if people arrived at the answer. Why should there be an order? I'll tell you: There shouldn't be._

 _Be happy in your work, they say, for it enriches you. Be grateful for your alt mode, for it defines you. Be thankful for the system—it protects you. Be mindful of your betters—they think for you. I say enough. Reject your work. Reject your alt mode. Resist the system. And your "betters"? You have none. We are all equal. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives."_

* * *

In his dream, Prowl stood up from his chair and gripped a data pad in his hands. He watched as all the optics in the senate turned to look at him, including Nova Prime's. Clearing his intakes, he puffed up his chest and gathered the air needed to raise his voice.

He had an issue to address. He felt as if this could change the Cybertron they have learned to live and love. He raised the data pad to chest level and slowly turned all the way around for everyone to see it clearly.

"It's called, _Towards Peace_ , written by a Megatron."


	3. Chapter 3

Prowl gripped onto the data pad he held in his hand, and kept a neutral expression on his face. He looked around and studied the faces of the senate members trying to see their reactions. The black and white mechaforensics member wanted to know if any of the members have even heard about the published data pad.

"We might have a revolutionary member trying to convince the planet about some non-sense. It's completely irrational." He stated after turning off the data pad and setting it neatly on the desk in front of him making sure the edges of the data pad were parallel with the edges of the desk.

A bright green and slim mech stood up and looked directly at Prowl. "You have no reason to stand up and talk. You're just some mechaforensics member trying to move up in the world, but I think you forgot the fact that Primus gave you a function. Don't deviate."

Nova Prime cleared his throat and looked at the green mech causing him to brighten his optics and sit back down quickly scared of what the Prime might say. "I invited him here. He's a smart young mech. And I, myself, am curious about this." He looked over at the confident black and white mechaforensics member standing proudly near the back of the room. "Tell the room how you came across this writing."

Prowl nodded and searched his memory files to get a more than accurate description of what happened. "Tumbler and I were on a routine call. An aged mech found offlined near a small bar. We assumed it was a bar fight gone wrong, but to be sure, I requested that Tumbler do a full autopsy. Once we did so, we discovered numerous data pads in his subspace. So I quickly-"

"-What was this mech made for, and what was his occupation?" The green mech stood up again interrupting once more.

"He turned into a tank and was a miner." Prowl answered trying to hide his annoyance.

"Why should we care about some miner? They are of no useful benefit in this court." The green mech frowned while making a weak point.

Prowl sighed and had to bite his glossa from snapping or talking back. "My occupation, as you all know, is in mechaforensics. We evaluate and solve ALL crimes that happen within our city-state limits. My team has a 99.92137 percent solve rate. I can look at 800 pieces of shattered glass or moving objects and calculate their exact point in which there were shattered in only point eight two three seconds. Also, my partner is extremely intelligent and he knows what he's doing. So for me to be asked to be here and bring this topic up, must count for something. I see hundreds upon thousands of deaths every single solar year, but this offline was very odd. To find at least two dozen copies of the same data pad in his subspace. To have a data pad about that topic. To have dozens of them about that single topic."

The green mech frowned. "And that topic might be?" He asked not impressed.

"He wants a revolution. He wants to take down the senate and destroy the functionists."

Prowl arrived at his habitation suite in the tall complex and sighed loudly in disappointment. Tumbler opened the door and greeted him smiling under his mouth plate. "Prowl."

Prowl nodded and stepped into their shared habitation suite. "Tumbler." He greeted back and leaned against the door and slumped his frame while frowning.

Tumbler gently raised a hand and put it on his shoulder. "How did it go?" He asked while using his thumb to gently massage circles on the edges of his plating.

Prowl tossed his helm forward and groaned. "It was a complete disaster. I brought up the data pad and its contents and they all laughed. Taking down the senate? Some miner taking down the senate?" He dropped his shoulders. "I've been running equations and calculating them all day in my head. I predict there is a thirteen point seven five two four percent chance of a group of miners revolting."

Tumbler nodded along showing him that he was paying attention. "Was Nova Prime there?"

Prowl nodded. "He seemed… fake." He responded truthfully. "I know he is our Prime, but I've been running calculations about that as well in my head. I don't think he is the most trust worthy Prime we've ever had, but he is a spectacular leader."

Tumbler nodded in agreement. "Well, you know more about this stuff than I do."

Prowl sighed again and stood up dragging his feet over to a couch where he could bend back and relax on after this long day. Tumbler smiled under his face plate and sat right next to the black and white mech. Tumbler looked up at him and tried not to frown.

Prowl and Tumbler were more than friends for sure, but Tumbler wasn't quite sure what exactly they were. Were they lovers? Or just real good friends? These questions rolled in and out of his processor from time to time.

Prowl looked down at Tumbler and parted his lip plates thinking about possibilities of future cases they might encounter the next day. Simultaneously, he studied the curvature of Tumbler's face plating committing every curve—yes, he even calculated the mathematical equations for their curves and saved them—and also, every color to his memory banks.

The forensics expert reached up to touch Prowl's lips. "I'm so jealous." He whispered out tracing his lip plates.

Prowl couldn't help but brighten his optics in surprise from the sudden comment. "Why is that?"

The scientist inched closer and spoke softly, "Your mouth is so perfect." Letting his fingers off his face plates, he inched even closer almost to the point where he was sitting on the younger mech's lap. "Mine is a couple steps up from a basic intake. Nothing special about that."

Something inside of Prowl told him to act, but his strong rationality programming was warning him from getting to close to his work partner, but he couldn't help but calculating the risk of them leaving each other, and no matter what he inputted, he knew they weren't going to last. But his spark, it wanted Tumbler. It told him to disobey his powerful processor and follow his instincts, but he didn't want to risk anything.

The older mech reached up and cupped Prowl's cheeks and used the other hand to run his fingers down his red helm chevron. "I mean, I feel so… I feel so poorly made when I'm around you. You were given this spectacular frame, and you don't put it to good use."

Prowl couldn't help but press his lip plates in a thin line. He was devoting his whole processing system to give him a mathematical calculation on exactly what was going on at the time, but he couldn't help but have an urge to turn off his advanced mathematical programming and spend quality time looking at the older mech.

The other mech smirked under his mask and decided to take a chance. He look one hand and ran it down one of his door wings extracting a sharp gasp from the black and white mech. "I know how sensitive these things are." He whispered out while pressing his thumb into a loose cabling near the base and gently massing it. "I know how to make you feel good Prowl." His words were confident and cool. "Please. Let me love you." The younger mech nodded quickly and quivered under his touches.

Tumbler nodded and pushed Prowl down onto the couch, but Prowl quickly objected and winced as his door wings bent a little farther than it should have. Tumbler quickly apologized and looked at the ground. "Berth is too far and your wings are too wide for the couch." He pointed to the cold metal floor and looked into Prowl's optics a little too serious for his usual nature.

Prowl mumbled and dragged his aft off the couch and sat on the floor. Tumbler nodded in approval and pushed him down so his door wings lay comfortably by his sides. The older mech ran his hands up and down Prowl's beautifully sculpted body and tugged on some visible cabling, his smirk widening under his mask. Feeling Tumbler's hands all over him made him feel appreciated, but he couldn't shake the feeling about all the calculations not adding up. Why didn't they talk about this? Why did he even allow this? Why is this so awkward? Why is this so sudden? He was shocked back into his senses when Tumbler pulled on some sensitive cables tucked behind his door wings.

"Tumbler…" He breathed out softly almost barely audible to the audios. He offlined his optics and felt his hands expertly nip, tug, and massage cables all the way from his helm to his waist.

"Yes Prowl?" Tumbler asked while massaging his hips with his thumbs getting closer to his midsection with every passing second. He stopped and looked up at Prowl barely noticing his parted quivering lips. Tumbler smirked and ran a hand across his valve cover and quickly brought it back up and cupped the younger mechs face plates.

"Stop!" Prowl onlined his optics and looked up at Tumbler. "I-I-I'm not ready for this! For us!" The mech stood up and marched away not wanting to deal with anything at that moment.

Prowl's internal alarms woke him up from his recharge and he groggily yawned while onlining his optics. He stretched his body and looked around to find an empty room. His empty room. The second in command dismissed the memory surge he had in his so called dream and sat up on his berth.

Putting a hand to his helm, he groaned remembering Tumbler, or now called Chromedome. He used to love him, but after the war started to escalate, they had to go their separate ways. Maybe Prowl took it a bit too hard, but he couldn't help but become angry at the mere thought of him.

He swung his legs across the berth and jump out sighing preparing for his long day.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, so I know my flashbacks can be really confusing, but this is WAY before Prowl and Chromedome/Tumbler had their little moment.

* * *

Sunstreaker used to be a part of the strike team with his brother-in-arms, Sideswipe, before the war. The golden yellow mech was Sideswipe's P3 Training Officer, and took every chance he could to put down his so called rookie. It was typical for the two close partners. Sideswipe was constantly living in Sunstreaker's shadow, and he hated it. All the mechs seemed to look right past him as if he were some lousy ghost and they'd run their optics right through him so they could admire his beautiful brother. He didn't really get it. They were in the same social class, they were built loosely based on the same frame, had the same alt mode and practically the same job, but Sunstreaker seemed to always be better.

Sideswipe was looking up at Sunstreaker. Literally. "I got a call. The senate needs us in Iacon." He was laying down on a couch with his arms under his head as he smiled up at the golden mech in front of him.

"I know, Sideswipe. I've already received the call. No need to repeat it to me." He said dryly as he turned around to go get his stuff ready.

"I was just saying you know! Primus, Bro! You don't have to be such a stuck up glitch about everything." He mumbled the last part to himself. Letting out a big sigh, he frowned and slowly got off the couch to stretch his sore back struts. "Anyways, I'm already all set and ready to go." His face contorted into a smirk as he watched his twin get ready. "Wouldn't want to be who slows us down." He added trying to get under Sunstreaker's circuits.

His brother ignored his comments and mumbled a plethora of profanities under his breath. He finished packing everything into his subspace and looked back at his brother. "We're going to be under some mech designated, Prowl. I heard some rumors about him. He's a full autopsy loving, by the rule, stick up his aft officer in the Iacon mechaforensics unit. Be nice and respectful Sideswipe."

Sideswipe laughed loudly, "When am I not nice and respectful, Bro?"

His brother sighed and put a hand up to his helm pinching his nose. "Do I have to answer that, Sideswipe?"

"You both did a good job." Prowl said while offering a hand for the strike team members, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, to shake. Sideswipe gracefully took it and gripped it tightly while moving his hand up and down giving him a firm handshake. Prowl frowned trying not to wince at Sideswipe's grip of death. Then, Sunstreaker took the mech's hand and gave a looser handshake.

Sunstreaker looked at Prowl and frowned feeling a wave of anxiety about to hit him. Ever since he met Prowl the previous day, he couldn't help but feel jumpy or feel so weird and anxious around him. Sunstreaker closed his hands into a fists and scowled looking away.

"You okay, Sunstreaker?" The mechaforensics officer asked.

"Yeah." He responded a little too quickly and regretted it immediately. The scowl on his face started to become more apparent every passing second.

"Why don't we discuss this over some energon?" The black and white mech suggested while eying the angry looking mech in front of him. Prowl found the mech attractive, but thought nothing more of him other than his abilities as a strike team officer.

"R-right now?" Sunstreaker asked as his scowl disappeared.

Prowl nodded, "If Sideswipe doesn't mind."

Sunstreaker looked over at Sideswipe and he received a shrug from the red mech. "I don't give a frag." He responded causally. Sunstreaker nodded and looked over at Prowl nodding.

Sideswipe gave a soft smile and left. "Shall we?" Prowl asked while turning around to start walking to a near café.

The walk to the café was painfully silent and awkward. Sunstreaker sat down at the booth Prowl picked out and looked at the mech in front of him. Sunstreaker absolutely adored the way his red helm horns contrasted with his black and white frame colors. He studied the way his door wings curved and how they sat on his back. He studied his shoulders and looked closely enough to see sensitive cabling that was almost ready to be touched, massages, and kissed.

"How long have you and Tumbler worked together?" Sunstreaker asked curiously. There was a part of him that hated the way Tumbler looked at Prowl and he especially hated the way Prowl looked at him, but if Prowl bothered to take him out for energon, that must count for something.

"Actually, we've just gotten to work together about two weeks ago. Not that long. He was transferred from a different team into mine." Prowl said while sitting back on his chair while taking a sip of his energon.

"Good." He thought that if they were barely working together, then feelings wouldn't have been true or apparent at all. But then again, they only met the day before. "You were saying something about the senate earlier?" Sunstreaker asked.

Prowl sighed and looked into Sunstreaker's optics. "Small talk isn't why I invited you to drink energon with me. I thought it would have been obvious." He stated wanting to get down to business.

The golden yellow mech gulped and blinked a little too anxious and scared to say anything else. He looked back into Prowl's optics and tried not to get up and do something stupid.

"I see the way you look at me." Prowl added. Prowl thought he was attractive, but nothing else. Although, he knew the mech in front of him worked under the senate. If he could make a connection with someone high up there, than maybe he could change something for himself. Become one of the few whom escape their designated job for life cheating the system. He wouldn't consider this cheating, but he'd consider this just a useful and dispensable resource to have.

Sunstreaker nodded and looked down not wanting to meet his optics. "I might possibly have some feelings for you." He didn't want to lie. Worst case scenario: he gets rejected. And if he gets rejected, he just has to tell the senate to send a different team to Iacon from now on. But if Prowl does return the feelings, then he has something to look forward to. He'll have an excuse to go to Iacon.

Prowl nodded. "You want me?" It was a simple question, but the answer would make Sunstreaker's feelings and attentions crystal clear.

"You have no idea about what I want you to do to me." The golden mech responded as he looked down at his hands fidgeting with his fingers. He tried to count scratches, metal imperfections, uneven finishes, and microscopic dents on his leg plating.

"I couldn't imagine, Sunstreaker." Prowl smirked as he calculated the odds of Sunstreaker becoming a valuable and loyal resource to him. His prognostic programming calculated that Sunstreaker would be perfect for a role of bringing him closer to the senate. "What might you want me to do to you?" Prowl asked not knowing exactly how to answer Sunstreaker's statements.

Sunstreaker looked back up at Prowl after finding out he couldn't possibly have more than two imperfections on his golden yellow leg plating. "I need to know how you feel first Prowl."

"That's reasonable." The black and white mech concluded. He sat up straighter as he made mental calculations on how would be the best way to respond. "I feel attracted to you." He wasn't technically lying. "I find you intriguing. Different from all other mechs."

The mech sitting in front of him nodded along and placed his hands on the table of the booth. "I want you."

"Physically or mentally, Sunstreaker?" Prowl asked trying to find out the other mech's limits.

"Would it be wrong to say both?" Sunstreaker said while staring at the mechs beautiful curves.

"No. It wouldn't be wrong." He tapped his fingers along the top of the desk while he started to think about everything currently occurring between them.

"Good." Sunstreaker couldn't help but heat up at the thought of Prowl holding him, touching him, loving him, and tying him up so Sunstreaker could completely become one of Prowl's little toys.

"What if I were to ask for you to come to my office tonight?" Prowl asked wanting to get him desperate enough to want to do anything for him that night.

"I would say yes. I would definitely come. Wouldn't miss it for the world." He responded confidently.

"Okay." He decided. Prowl eyed him once more and tried to come to a few final conclusions. "You're a sub, right?" Prowl asked while evaluating the kind of mech Sunstreaker was, and trying to evaluate how Sunstreaker would choose to interface.

"Y-Yes. I am, Prowl." He responded. "I'm not into that vanilla slag. I want the real deal. If that's okay with you."

Prowl smirked and looked into Sunstreaker's optics. It would have taken him a while to come to the conclusion he was into bondage. "No vanilla? Got it. I have some nice supplies myself. In my office, actually." He tilted his head and stared into Sunstreaker's needy optics.

Sunstreaker smiled and smirked at the same time, which ended up looking really awkward. "Okay Prowl. That's fine with me. That's perfect." Sunstreaker took a couple more sips of his energon cube and put the half-full cube back down. He completely forgot about the cube because he was too focused on the black and white mech in front of him. He looked over at Prowl's almost empty cube in his hands. _He knows how to multitask_. He thought to himself. It was either he couldn't drink or talk, or his cube magically disappeared when they were having a conversation.

"Good." He said before lifting his cube back up and slowly drinking the remaining amounts of energon. "See you tonight." He left it at that and got up to start walking away from the café.

The golden yellow strike team member looked at his energon and swirled it around the cube a couple times before downing its contents. "Okay." He said to himself as he got up ready to leave.


End file.
